Mending Shattered Wings
by Eternal Headache
Summary: Dick's recovery following being rescued from Slade and leaving the Titans. Or rather, attempt at recovery... *Sequel to Shattered Wings* NOT ABANDONED, BUT ON HIATUS. April 30: Please see my profile for new information.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The characters appearing in the following fic belong to DC Comics. Not me, tho when I rule the universe (and I will some day, mark my words!) they'll be ALL MINE!!! Ah, but of course I'll share them with you guys ;)

Synopsis: Dick's recovery following being rescued from Slade and leaving the Titans. Or rather, attempt at recovery...

AN: This picks up just a few hours after the end of Teen Titans: Shattered Wings. I strongly advise reading that first as nothing in this fic will make sense otherwise.

ARUGH!!! This stupid thing is doing it again! It won't take the chapter breaks, meaning I have to put in END SCENE to rep the chapter breaks. *Grumble*

Mending Shattered Wings

**Part 1 **

Alfred watched anxiously as the Batwing came to a gentle rest in its usual place, forcing himself to wait until the engines had been turned off and it was safe to approach.

He had been fairly worried when, several days earlier, the Bat Computer had lit up with the emergency signal specifically designed for Robin. He had known that the signal would not have been activated if the situation were not urgent and being unable to contact Batman right away had been hard on him. The master had been away on a Justice League mission at the time, so it had been two days before the call was answered. Two horribly long days of not knowing whether or not his surrogate grandson was all right. This, of course, brought on nightmares of Dick dead or dying somewhere, waiting for help that was too slow in coming…

Alfred's worry had escalated to outright fear when Batman had called from Titans Tower to tell him what had happened. He had been a bundle of nerves ever since, even after learning of Robin's eventual rescue and that the boy was now coming home with his father. He had kept himself occupied during the long wait for their arrival by making sure Dick's room was thoroughly ready for him and that he had everything he needed on hand to make Dick's favorite meals. _The lad never looked like he was eating enough…_

Now Alfred hurried forward as the cockpit slid open and his heart jumped to his throat when he saw his surrogate grandson slowly climbing out of the plane_. My Lord! _the Englishman thought in horror, _he looks dreadful!_

Bruises dotted the exposed skin on Robin's arms and face, a testimony to the harsh battles he had been in and, from the way he moved, Alfred was certain beyond any doubt that more injuries lay hidden within. He was entirely too thin for Alfred's comfort and he looked several levels beyond exhausted. It was a wonder the boy was still standing at all. Uncharacteristic rage flooded the elderly man. What had that monster done to his grandson?

Struggling to keep control of himself, Alfred closed the remaining distance between himself and his charges, never taking his eyes from Dick. "Master Dick," he greeted gently, lowering himself down to Dick's eye level and placing his hands on his young charge's shoulders. He wished he could pull the boy into a tight hug and would have if the teen didn't look so fragile. He settled for a gentle squeeze instead. "I can't tell you how happy I am to see you. I've been so worried."

To his credit, Dick managed a smile and initiated a gentle hug. "I'm glad to see you too, Alfred," he murmured into Alfred's shoulder, closing his eyes against the tears that threatened. " I've missed you too."

"And I you, young sir," Alfred replied, slipping into fretting mode as he pulled back and asked, "Would you like something to eat? I daresay you look like you could use a good, hot meal."

There was moment of strange hesitation where Dick glanced back at the Batwing before he quietly replied, "That would be nice, Alfred. Just some sandwiches maybe, but…but may I have a shower first? I feel pretty dirty right now."

Alfred glanced at Batman, who had not moved or said a word the whole time. For some reason, he couldn't help but wonder if Dick meant dirty physically or emotionally. He didn't comment on it though, and, with a smile and a nod, he replied, "Of course, young sir. You go have your shower. I'll take your bags to your room and then prepare some sandwiches."

Dick glanced back at the Batwing again, that funny hesitation returning once more. "Okay. Uh…Alfred? Don't unpack them, though, okay? I…I kinda feel like I should do that myself."

Alfred's eyes moved back to Batman, who still had not moved or said a word from where he stood just behind and to Dick's left. At the slight nod he got, Alfred turned his attention back to Dick and smiled again. "As you wish. Go on and have your shower, now. The sandwiches will be waiting when you get out."

As Dick moved off, Alfred turned his worried grey eyes on Bruce, who had now pushed his cowl back and was watching Dick disappear into the shower area, his eyes completely unreadable. The worry in Alfred's eyes evolved to ask the million dollar question, _'Is he all right?' _

Bruce's eyes met Alfred's and he sighed and shook his head. "I don't know yet, Alfred," he answered the silent question before moving off to the showers as well.

Alfred watched him disappear, his heart sinking further and further with every second. He collected the few bags Dick had brought back with him, leaving the ones that contained weapons in the cave and taking the two remaining bags upstairs to Dick's room. It *could* have been the exhaustion talking, but the boy he had just spoken with had only borne a passing resemblance to the child that he had helped raise from the age of the nine. He sincerely hoped it was just the exhaustion and that any damage that had been inflicted was more physical than emotional.

The odd hesitation that Dick had displayed entered the forefront of Alfred's mind. What had that been about? Both times, Dick had looked back at the Batwing, as if there was something there that had been calling out to him, something only he could hear. Alfred's eyes moved down to the bags he carried and he wondered if that something was contained there, in one of them. That fact that Dick clearly didn't want anyone else going through his bags strongly supported that theory. However, Alfred was no snoop and Dick was entitled to his privacy. Whatever was in the bags, Alfred would leave for Dick to sort out.

After putting Dick's bags in his room, Alfred went down into the kitchen and made some turkey sandwiches. Placing them on a tray, he picked it up and went back down to the cave. Not seeing either of his charges, he set the tray down and headed back toward the shower area.

Pausing in the doorway, he came upon a sight that caused his heart to warm a little and a tender smile to touch his lips. Dick was lying on a bench, fast asleep with Bruce sitting next to him, running a gentle hand through Dick's dark, damp hair. There was a tender, if amazed, look on Bruce's face as he gazed down at his sleeping son and the trust that the boy had unconsciously and so freely showed in him. It was an expression that Alfred hadn't seen in far too long a time, and lauded its return with a heartfelt sigh. But the touching scene was darkened by the ugly discolorations decorating Dick's chest, stopping where the pajama bottoms began. The peaceful, innocent expression that had always dominated Dick's features when he slept was absent, replaced by the exhaustion and pain currently ruling him. Moving closer, Alfred saw even more bruises that the mask had previously covered, adding to the effect currently being projected. It caused Alfred's heart to ache even more at the thought of what Dick must have gone through whilst in that monster's dubious 'care.'

Bruce looked up, silently regarding the older man for several seconds before standing and gently gathering Dick up in arms and leaving the shower area, heading for the stairs and the Manor Proper. Alfred followed, hurrying forward to clear the way for Bruce, the sandwiches forgotten for the time being. They went upstairs and into Dick's room without a word, where Alfred quickly turned back the covers, allowing Bruce to carefully place his cradled bundle in the warm, safe bed. He stood back, then, and watched as Bruce covered Dick up, one hand gently touching Dick's cheek before reluctantly pulling away and straightening up. Still without a word, Bruce left the room, leaving Dick to get some much needed rest.

Alfred followed quietly, much of the awful tension he had been struggling with for the last several days finally leaving him. Dick was home. He was safe and their little family was whole once more…

END SCENE

The clock gradually swam into focus as Dick's eyes slowly flickered open. 10:28A.M.

_What?! Oh shit! Slade is going to give it to me for sure_... As that thought crossed his mind, he heard movement nearby and panic seized him. "Forgive me, master!" he cried out, sitting bolt upright and preparing to evade the blow he knew was coming. "I didn't mean to sleep so late, I..." He stopped his rambling, taking in the startled visitor who was most definitely *not* Slade. "A....Alfred?"

Dick glanced around, suddenly recognizing his room in Wayne Manor. His confusion quickly dissolved as he remembered what had happened. He had been liberated from Slade's possession and had come home, leaving leadership of the Titans to Cyborg. Images raced through his mind of his time with Slade like remnants of some horrible nightmare. Stealing for him, being forced to fight the Titans, being violently punished when he angered the man…

Alfred, who had been in the process of setting the tray he had been carrying down, turned quickly at the cry from his surrogate grandson, a soothing reply at the ready. A reply that never made it past his lips when he took in the sight before him. He watched Dick silently, as deeply disturbed by what he was seeing as Dick seemed to be by what he was thinking about. His earlier hopes that the injuries had been mostly physical were quickly dying out just based on this one witnessed reaction. Good lord in heaven, the boy had only been *resting!* How could he have expected to be punished for doing something he had obviously been in desperate need of? This Slade must have been a very cruel man indeed to instill fear like this, especially in *Dick* of all people.

As he watched Dick's gaze wander the room, slowly putting things together in his head, Alfred couldn't help but notice, now that the boy was awake and sans his mask, that the light that normally filled the young acrobat's eyes had dimmed alarmingly. The warmth and carefree confidence that had always radiated from them was also missing. Alfred suddenly found himself desperately wishing to see that bright, mischievous smile that had always seemed to hover below the surface, just waiting to burst out and make someone's day better….

Dick's attention was finally drawn back to Alfred as the elderly caretaker cleared his throat and was now saying, "You may sleep as long as you wish, master Dick." He indicated the tray he was holding with a nod of his head, holding it up a little more. "You have, however, been sleeping for two days and I thought you could do with something to eat."

He moved over to the bed and Dick quickly adjusted himself as his surrogate grandfather gently placed the tray down over his lap. Dick blinked down at the food, a small, sad smile playing across his lips as he discovered it was his favorite, blueberry pancakes. _Good old Alfred..._

"Thanks Alfred," he murmured quietly. He really wasn't all that hungry but he knew that if he didn't eat, the old gentlemen's gentlemen would fuss and worry. So he forced himself to eat, half listening to Alfred prattle on about Gotham current events as the butler 'tidied' the already pristine room.

His attention was starting to drift off again when Alfred dragged it back again by saying, "Oh, and Miss Barbara called yesterday inquiring as to how you were. She may be dropping by later today or tomorrow if you're up to visitors." There was a note of hope and suggestion in Alfred's voice, indicating that he thought a visit from the lovely Miss Gordon, A.K.A Batgirl, was a wonderful idea.

Dick looked up sharply, eyes widening slightly. "B...Barbara?" Oh boy, now *there* was someone he didn't think he could face right now. She must know at least some of what had happened…what would she think of him? What would she think of Robin the 'Boy Wonder' falling into the hands of a madman...forced to do his bidding or watch his friends die? She would be so terribly disappointed in him, especially once she got a good look at him. _I must look utterly pathetic… _"Uh....Alfred, do you think you could let her know I won't be up to seeing anyone for a few days yet?" he asked, a slight tremor in his voice.

Alfred looked like he might argue, but the ringing of the phone stopped him. "Excuse me, young sir," he said before hurrying out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Dick sighed, finally allowing himself to relax a little now that Alfred was gone and, putting the remainder of his breakfast aside, he lay his head back on the headboard, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't believe he had actually slept for two whole days..._Wait a second! Two days?! _His eyes widened at the realization and he scrambled out of bed, hurrying to his dresser and, hurriedly yanking open a drawer, pulling out a small, locked box. Opening another drawer, he fished out a key and used it to unlock the box, revealing special items and keepsakes from his childhood. But they were not what he sought right then.

Removing the treasures carefully, he freed the false bottom and breathed a sigh of relief when he found the little pile of those wonderful, horrible pills lying there, safe and sound. It took a few minutes, but he did recall waking up in his darkened room at some point, alert enough to retrieve the pills from where he had hidden them in one of his bags and hide what he had managed to bring back with him before falling asleep again.

Repacking and locking the box, he put it back and then went into the bathroom, mentally calculating how long the supply would last him. If he was careful, he could probably stretch it out to around two months, maybe a little longer if he cut the pills in half and only took them when he *really* needed them. But what would he do after that? Maybe he could analyze one and figure out how to make more himself...

At the same time as that thought was crossing his mind, he caught sight of himself in the mirror and froze. His reflection seemed to be looking back at him in disgust and a voice matching that disgust sneered, _'Look at you! The great Boy Wonder reduced to nothing more than a pathetic addict, wondering how to keep himself in supply of his precious drug.' _

_No!_ Dick protested. _It's not like that! I'm not one of *them* and I never will be. The...they'll help me recover...help with the pain..._

His reflection snorted at him. _'Yeah right. That's what they all say. No wonder the Titans believed you had betrayed them. You're weak....pathetic. They must have seen it in you from the very beginning. They were right to believe the lie....'_

"Shut up!" Dick shouted and put his fist through the mirror, shattering his smirking, judging reflection and silencing that sneering, awful voice. He stared at the shattered image of himself in the slivers of glass at his feet, breathing hard and trying to regain control. He could feel the blood oozing down his hand and dripping onto the glass on the floor, distorting his image even more….

"Master Dick? Are you all right in there?" came Alfred's voice, followed by a knock on the bathroom door. Dick spun around as it opened, taking a quick step away from the mirror as the startled Englishman cried out, "Good heavens!" and quickly closed the distance between them. "What happened, master Dick?" he asked, glancing at the shattered mirror before turning his attention to Dick's bloody hand.

Dick blinked, suddenly becoming aware of the pain in his hand and realizing what he had done. "I....I...." he stuttered, struggling to think of something beyond the confusion and pain crashing through his senses.

Alfred shook his head, saying, "Never mind, now. Let's just get your hand fixed up."

He had Dick sit on the toilet seat and set to work cleaning and bandaging the wound. He had been startled and a little frightened when he'd heard the shout and the breaking glass, and that fear rose even more when he had entered the bathroom to find Dick standing among the remains of the mirror, his hand bloody, looking…well, he wasn't quite sure *what* the boy had looked like, except that he certainly didn't like it one bit. But whatever it was, it had disappeared at his question and was replaced by a look he knew well. It was one he had seen on Bruce's face many, many times over the years: the look of the lost.

He glanced up at Dick when he finished with the hand, noting the now thoughtful, haunted expression that he had also seen mirrored on Bruce's face hundreds of times. Deciding to give the boy a few more minutes with his thoughts before offering counsel, Alfred turned away and began carefully cleaning up the glass from the floor.

Dick sat in numb silence as Alfred worked, the little pills waiting in his dresser the only thing he could think about. "Alfred?" he finally asked in a whisper, "am I weak...pathetic?"

Alfred, who was nearly finished cleaning up the broken glass, stopped and looked at the teen in surprise. "Master Dick!" That was the last question he would have ever expected to hear Dick ask. "Where on Earth did you get such an idea from?"

Dick opened and closed his mouth, unable to find a reply. He didn't really know *how* to explain, considering it had been his reflection who had said it. Alfred would surely think he was ready for Arkham Asylum if he tried…

When Dick wasn't forthcoming with an answer, Alfred knelt down in front of him, putting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezing gently, mindful of any hidden bruises under his shirt. "Dick, you listen to me," he said softly, firmly. "You are neither weak nor pathetic. You are one of the strongest, smartest young men I have ever known and I am honored to consider you as a member of my family. Weak and pathetic men don't have what you have....people who love and care for you who are going to help you recover from this ordeal and when it's all over, you'll be stronger than ever." A soft smile passed Alfred's lips. "And I'll be just as proud of you as I am now."

Dick didn't know whether to smile in relief or break down and cry. It was so good to be home again, back with those who knew him best. _Except that they don't know you, _that voice whispered mockingly, much softer than it had been before. _Not anymore, not the real you, not if you keep what's in your dresser a secret..._

"Master Dick?" Dick forced his attention back to the older man. "You look so troubled, son." The hand that was on Dick's shoulder moved to gently cover Dick's bandaged hand, a meaningful look in those wise, grey eyes. "Is there something you would like to tell me?"

_God, yes! _another voice spoke up. _Tell him! Prove his words aren't a lie! Tell him! _

_Are you kidding? _the other voice countered. _Do you seriously want to give up the only thing that's keeping your soul from shattering into a billion pieces? You tell him and I guarantee you won't survive the outcome. _

The first voice started to protest but was overridden by memories of how much better those wonderful, terrible pills made him feel....memories that just felt so damn good…

"Alfred," he said quietly, hating himself more and more with each second, "could I, um, be alone for a while?"

Instead of the disappointment he had expected to see, understanding filling the older man's kind eyes. "Of course."

With one last, reassuring squeeze, Alfred moved to leave, stopping when Dick called out to him. "Thank you." Alfred smiled and nodded, then left the bathroom.

Dick sat there, listening until he heard his bedroom door close, then silently left the bathroom, retrieving the box and revealing the little while pile again. He stared at them for several long seconds, the voices at war with each other, before snatching one out and taking it. He put the box back, then proceeded to dress in shorts and a T-Shirt while the magic pill did its thing.

By the time he left his room, the voices were finally, mercifully, silent.

END SCENE

Bruce stood watching Dick meditate on the lawn in the backyard of the manor. Alfred had told him about the incident that morning and, like the older man, he couldn't help but be worried. Especially since Dick had not yet told him everything that had happened when he was in Slade's possession.

In the time between getting the boy out and bringing him home, the only thing Bruce had been able to get out of him was the adamant reassurance that the bastard had done nothing sexual with his son. The rest of the time Dick had spent sleeping, but now that he was awake, it was past time to discover the extent of the damage that *had* been inflicted. He wasn't expecting it to be easy and he knew it would take time, but Bruce was a patient man and as long as it helped Dick, and brought back the boy he knew, he didn't care how long it took.

As he watched Dick, sitting so still, he realized how wrong it looked. According to Alfred, he'd been out here in that same position for quite some time. That alone sent the warning bells off in Bruce's head. Dick had *never* been one to sit still for very long. He always had to be active…on the move, doing *something.* It was almost like the boy would go crazy if he didn't…

Moving outside, he walked silently across the lawn and sat down next to his boy, taking up his own meditative position and patiently waiting for something to happen…for Dick to acknowledge his presence.

Nearly fifteen minutes passed before Dick said quietly, "You're in disappointed in me, aren't you." It was statement, not a question.

Bruce looked over at Dick, who still had not moved an inch, or opened his eyes, and really took in the boy's appearance. He was much thinner than the last time they had seen each other and, despite the two full days of sleep he had gotten, he *still* looked like he hadn't slept in a month. He caught sight of a fading bruise along Dick's jaw line and, hiding his unease at the comment, Bruce forced himself to ask mildly, "Why would I be disappointed in you?"

Dick opened his eyes, determinedly staring straight ahead as he quietly replied, "Because I fell into that trap you've always warned me about. I allowed myself to be captured and used by an enemy because of my friends. I allowed Robin to be turned into a criminal." A touch of bitter disgust filled his voice as he added, "How can you *not* be disappointed?"

Bruce didn't need J'onn's abilities to feel the anger and self hatred practically oozing from the boy, and it was a long moment before he could find enough words to answer. He needed to phrase his response just right and the warning bells were once again clamoring in his head. Dick was far too…calm about this, which contradicted what he knew was going on inside the boy's heart. It was highly unlike Dick to hide his feelings. In all the years Bruce had known his surrogate son, Dick had *always* let it be known how he was feeling. This lack of display of emotions was…disturbing.

"No, Dick," he began gently, "I'm not disappointed. You simply got yourself into a situation that you couldn't get out of and you did exactly what I trained you to do. You went into survival mode and you did what you had to do to survive until help got to you. How can I be disappointed in you when you did what I would have expected?"

"I brought shame to Robin's name," Dick replied, still staring straight ahead. "I went against everything that Robin stands for."

"No, Dick, you didn't," Bruce countered gently but firmly. "It wasn't Robin who was doing Slade's bidding. Sure, the name was the same, but were you in Robin's mind? Were you flying with Robin's wings? *You* were not at fault, Dick. The only mistake you made was one that I've made hundreds of times myself."

Dick finally turned his sorrowful eyes on him, a questioning look in their haunted depths. Bruce's heart ached to see that sorrow…that same look that had also been in residence just seven years earlier when the boy's first pair of wings had been broken with the deaths of his parents. It had taken a while then, too, for Dick to learn to fly again….

Mentally shaking himself from memories of the past, Bruce explained his statement. "Obsession, son. It makes us deaf to the voices of our allies and blind to what the enemy is really up to."

Dick turned away, staring at the grass in contemplation.

Bruce let the silence go on for a couple of minutes before finally clearing his throat and asking, "How's the hand? I heard the mirror attacked it this morning."

Dick's shadowed eyes flickered to the bandaged hand in question as he shrugged. "It's okay. Hurts a little but nothing major."

"What happened?"

"Tripped," Dick replied succinctly, gaze still fixed on his bandaged hand.

Bruce raised a brow. "Tripped?"

Dick nodded, not elaborating any further.

Bruce didn't believe the story, wouldn't believe it until Dick could make the claim while meeting his gaze, but decided to let it go for now in favor of something else he'd been wanting to ask the boy. Something that had been bothering him since first witnessing the interaction between Dick and Slade several days earlier. "Dick, could I ask you something?"

Dick turned his gaze back on Bruce, a silent 'yes' in his eyes.

"The night that Slade had you take the stealth prototype from LexCorp, I was there, watching. I trailed you back to his hideout and watched everything from up in the rafters."

Dick froze, eyes widening a fraction.

Bruce didn't notice Dick's reaction, caught up as he was in bringing a surge of anger under control at the memory of that interaction, and, after a few seconds, continued. "He mentioned your having only minor injuries before giving you something." He paused, not really wanting to ask the question for fear of what the answer might be. After a few seconds of continued silence, however, he plunged on. "What was it he gave you?"

Something passed so fast through Dick's eyes that the untrained eye would have likely dismissed it as a trick of the light. But Bruce's eyes were very well trained and he saw something he would recognize anywhere. _Fear_. The Bat stirred within him with marked interest, watching as Dick turned his gaze back to the grass and made a show of contemplation. The teen stared at the grass with such intensity that one would have thought he was discovering the secrets of the universe in the meticulously cut blades at his feet. This caused the Bat's interest to rise even more. It had been a simple question, there was really no need for such a display….

After a long moment of silence, Dick slowly shook his head and said, "I don't remember. Mustn't have been that important."

The Bat came to full attention at the outright lie and Bruce scrambled to intercept him. A quick struggle took place which Bruce just barely managed to win by appealing to the Bat's sense of logic. The last thing they wanted was for Dick to clam up and retreat even further into himself than he already was. As much as he wanted to know why that question inspired such fear in his son, letting the Bat out would be a bad idea at this point. No, if he wanted answers, he was going to have to try something else first. The Bat growled but backed down, though not before issuing a warning that he would not stay back for long.

With this threat echoing in his head, Bruce allowed himself one deep breath to center and calm himself. "Dick," he began carefully, gently, "you know you can talk to me or Alfred about anything, right? We won't be angry, not with you." He reached out and put a hand on Dick's shoulder, noting with a pang of despair the quick flinch before he squeezed the too thin shoulder reassuringly. "We're here to help you get yourself back together, son."

Dick nodded, refusing to look at the older man. "I know," he whispered.

When he didn't say anything else, Bruce squeezed his shoulder again and said, "It's almost dinner time. Come on in and wash up."

"I'll be there in a minute," Dick replied with another nod, his gaze focused on some point somewhere in the distance.

Bruce nodded as he stood and left his son alone with his thoughts. He had gathered a lot of disturbing information during that little talk and he had a lot to think about himself.

"Well?" Alfred inquired after Bruce shut the door silently behind him, the older man having been on his way to call out the dinner time heads up.

"He's certainly hiding something," Bruce sighed, glancing back outside with troubled eyes. "Whatever it is, he doesn't want it getting out."

"What should we do?" Alfred questioned, allowing a small amount of his own worry to seep into his voice

"Watch him….closely," was the final decision, heavily influenced by the Bat. "Whatever it is, he can't hide it forever and he knows it. Maybe giving him a little time to think about it will convince him to come clean. I don't want to have to force it out of him if I don't have to."

Alfred nodded, casting a worried look in the unmoving teen's direction. "What do you suppose it is, sir?"

Bruce shook his head as he headed for the stairs. "I don't know, Alfred. But I have my suspicions."

END SCENE

_Oh God, oh God, oh God_…. Dick struggled to get his raging fear under control, not moving from the spot where his guardian had left him. Did Bruce know? No, he couldn't. If he did, the pills would have been gone or he would have come straight out and told him what he knew. No, at this point, the *detective* only had suspicions. He didn't know anything for sure. Not yet….

_Oh God, I can't hide this, _he thought despairingly.

_Give the boy a prize, _came a sarcastic voice. _So, what are you going to do about it, genius? You want to be a fucked up mess forever? Get up, go in there, and tell them what Slade did to you, then hand those awful things over and be done with it. _

_Awful things? _another voice purred almost seductively. _How can you say that? Those 'awful things' are what kept you going…what helped you survive. In fact, you should be grateful to Slade for giving them to you. How else could you have accepted the Titans' betrayal and their abandonment of you without those wonderful pain killers? Besides, telling Bruce and Alfred about them would be disrespecting Slade. You don't want to disrespect the Master do you? He'll be back for you eventually and you don't want him angry with you, do you?_

Now *there* was a truly terrifying thought. His heart rate sped up in reaction and apprehension washed over him. Then Dick frowned in confusion. Wait, what was it that he was terrified of? That Slade would come back? Or that his master would be angry with him for talking?

_Slade isn't your master! _the first voice, now devoid of sarcasm and filled with what might have been desperation, shouted in his mental ear. _'Don't you see? It's the drugs talking! *Nobody* is your master but you! Take back control, dammit!'_

"Dick!"

Dick jumped as Bruce's voice penetrated his once again warring thoughts. Forcing himself to calm his pounding heart, he looked back to find his mentor poking his head out the patio door.

"Come in for dinner!"

Silently, Dick obediently rose to his feet and headed inside. And with every step he took, the second voice was talking to him again, whispering seductive, terrifying thoughts. But, not to be outdone, the first voice was also present, contradicting everything its counterpart was tormenting him with. They were confusing him and making him want to fall to his knees and let out soul shattering scream in an effort to shut them up. Entering the bathroom, he leaned against the door and squeezed his eyes shut before pushing away and turning on the sink. He avoided looking in the mirror as he contemplated what he could do.

He knew that he could silence the voices by taking another dose, but he also knew he had to ration himself if he wanted them to last very long. So, he tried something that had seemed to work that morning: pain.

Gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw so that he would not cry out too loudly, Dick slammed his injured, sensitive hand into the wall of the bathroom. He offered up a silent, heartfelt thanks to whatever Powers That Be that may have been listening when he succeeded in once again silencing the torment, even though the echoes remained for a while longer, slowly getting softer, slowly fading.

As he entered the dining room and took his seat, aware of Bruce's eyes on him, both voices returned briefly. Soft, faint whispers filled his mind riding the echoes of their voices and filling him with the deepest despair and fear. They were back already! How strong could they possibly be? What was he going to have to do to silence them next time? Cut off a finger or two? Break a bone? _Oh God, please….please help me! _

One of the voices managed to gain strength and whispered encouragingly to him and Dick suddenly felt a surge of confidence break through the heavy barrier of despair, giving him the strength to raise his eyes to Bruce and say quietly, "Bruce?"

"Yes?" Bruce replied, his own eyes encouraging, silently inviting Dick to open up. The Bat once again moved forward in interest the second he saw the look in Dick's tormented eyes. He knew an inner battle when he saw one and Dick was certainly fighting a mother of one. His eyes and body language were betraying him. It was clear as day, any fool could see it. _Come on, Dick, _he silently prompted, _come out and say it. Let us help you._

What Dick really wanted to say was: "I need help, Bruce. Slade… he…he got me addicted to some kind of drug. Please…*please*…help me stop…"

But the voice of reason disappeared and the whispering stopped completely, leaving behind nothing but emptiness, fear, and confusion. Dick lowered his gaze to stare in disinterest at his food and instead whispered, "Nothing."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

PART 2

_They were all there. Bruce, Alfred, the Titans, members the JLA, Jim and Barbara Gordon… They surrounded him, pressing in on him, effectively trapping him, ensuring there was no escape. Almost every one of them were leering at him in disgust and disappointment. Others pointed and whispered unintelligibly to each other as they looked at him, shaking their heads in resignation…_

_Save for those who whispered to each other, no one said a word. They didn't have to; their eyes spoke volumes. They ridiculed him…told him what a pathetic disappointment he was…a worthless little __nobody __who, thinking he could play with "the big boys," had entered the superhero arena only to fail, had stood up to take his place only to fall.__ Even when he shut his eyes, trying to block out those looks, those denouncing judgments, they still managed to invade his mind's eye. Another possible escape route cut off from him, and the torment continued unabated._

_There flashed through his mind that fleeting thought that if he wasn't claustrophobic before, he was well on his way now. He could barely breathe with the way they all closed in on him, the sheer magnitude of their disgust and disappointment making him feel like was about to be crushed…forcing him to drop to his knees in an effort to gain more room. It was so hard to breathe…so hard to just *think.*_

_But that wasn't the worst part. That was yet to come. The worse part was when the crowd parted and *they* came through._

_It was always the same. Feeling the crowd move away, he would look up and hope would seize his aching heart, tears filling his eyes. His parents! He would allow himself to relax, then, knowing that they would help him, that they would chase his tormentors away, just like they used to before they were so cruelly taken from him. A shaky smile would form on trembling lips at the knowledge that, now that his parents were there, they would wrap him in their arms and hold him and make him feel warm, safe, and loved. But then he would look at them, really *look* at them, and all his hope died a terrible death. _

_Tears were running down his mother's cheeks, her head turned away, unable to look at him. His father held her close to him, staring at Dick with eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and contempt. Bone-chilling ice filled Dick's heart at that look. It was a millions times worse than the looks from the others, and the tears that had been pooling in his eyes began to fall. He reached out a shaking hand to his father and started to rise, only to freeze in place when his father's voice broke the dead silence that had descended._

"How *could* you, Dick?"_ The tone matched what was in his father's eyes and it was loud, derisive, and harsh. It caused Dick to cringe back in both physical and emotional pain, his hands pressing against his head in an effort to block out the painful echoes that resounded in his ears._ "Look at what you've done to your mother. You've destroyed her."

"No!"_ Dick cried out pleadingly, one hand leaving his head to reach out to them. _"Mom…Dad, please! I…I had no choice! The Titans…"

"There is *always* a choice, Dick,"_ his father interjected._ "But you didn't have enough faith and, because of that, you made the wrong choice." _John Grayson paused, his expression changing to one of loving concern as he turned away from Dick and looked down at his beloved wife, consolingly tightening his embrace as another sob escaped her while she turned even further away from Dick. Looking back at the boy he'd sired, John's expression filled with contempt once more as he added,_ "And that choice revealed just how weak and pathetic you really are. You've brought shame to our name…to *my* name." _He paused a moment and the oppressive weight of his stare only increased. _"You are certainly no son of *mine.*"

_With those horrible words echoing in Dick's mind, John turned and, with a gentle hand on Mary Grayson's back to guide her, the pair melted back into the crowd. _

_Dick didn't move; he couldn't move. He could only kneel where he had fallen to escape the crowd, for his heart and soul had shattered into billions of pieces at his father's words, the pain and disbelief so intense he couldn't move even if he tried. That wasn't what was supposed to happen! His parents were supposed to understand him, help him… He was only a kid! *Their* kid! They were supposed to make things okay again! Not tell him that they…that they didn't want him…_

"No!" _Dick shouted pleadingly, his denial of those final words, together with the sudden realization that they were leaving him all alone again, spurring him into movement._ "Mom! Dad!" _He surged to his feet and tried to run after them, but was blocked by a smirking Cyborg. Not having enough time to fight his once and former friend, he tried to dart around the larger teen, only to encounter one of Raven's force fields._ "Mom! Dad!" _he screamed, desperation driving him as he pounded uselessly on the barrier, and all the while the taunting laughter from those present was ringing in his ears._ "Please! Come back! I'm sorry! I'm not weak, I…"

With a gasp, Dick sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, his haunted blue eyes darting about his darkened room, almost as if expecting to see the mocking specters of his parents walking away from him. Nothing. There was no one there. He was alone. Always alone…

_A dream. It was only a dream._ A dream, yes, but it was the same, awful dream that had been tormenting him every night for the past week, that initial two day sleep having been the last dreamless one he'd been granted since his return from Slade's base of operations. He ran a shaky hand through his sweat-dampened hair, trying desperately to calm his pounding heart and banish from his memory the images of the way his parents…of the way his *father* had looked at him. He shuddered despite himself as those terrible words from the end of the nightmare echoed in his mind: _you are certainly no son of *mine…*_

Those words…those horrible, awful, soul-shattering words were a new addition to the dream. Before, his father had been content to simply tell him how weak and pathetic he was before disappearing back into the crowd. He couldn't help but wonder, with that latest dramatic addition, if his parents were trying to tell him something. Maybe it was a message from the great beyond confirming what a failure he was…

With a defeated, accepting sigh, Dick ran a hand through his hair, his heart rate finally slowing down to a more manageable level. Bad enough that the voices were driving him crazy during the waking hours, now his dreams were joining the fun too. Well, just as he had figured out how to silence the voices when he was awake, he had also found an answer for the dreams. He looked over at his clock to make sure. 1:58AM. Bruce was probably still out on patrol and Alfred was probably in bed. He'd have the cave all to himself.

Dick slipped out of bed and, almost without thinking, retrieved half of a pill and swallowed it down. He would need the focus for what he had in mind. Silently, he crept out of his room and headed down to the cave, careful not to wake Alfred along the way. Just because *he* couldn't sleep, didn't mean Alfred had to suffer too.

Confirming through the absence of the Batmobile from the cave that Batman was still out, Dick automatically went through a quick warm up, then took to the equipment that had been set up in a jungle gym style. He launched into a routine that steadily grew in intensity and got so involved in it that he never noticed when the Batmobile cruised in, gliding to a smooth stop in its designated parking place.

END SCENE

Batman stepped out of the car and silently approached the training area, watching Dick's every move, fully aware of what the teen was trying to do. It was something he, himself, had done too many time to count in an attempt to conquer the demons of his own sleep. He was also aware that Dick didn't think he knew about the dreams. But it was pretty hard to miss the cries in the night…the heartbreaking whimpers that Bruce could only soothe with gentle touches and whispered reassurances while Dick slept. He cursed Poison Ivy and her latest goddamn breed of man-eating plants that had delayed him from getting back in time tonight to prevent this very scene from playing out in his cave. Batman promised himself that he'd be more vigilant of the time tomorrow night.

Sighing, Bruce pulled back the cowl to reveal features that, while naturally handsome, were also more worn than they'd been in a long time. _If I ever manage to get my hands on Slade again, I'll make sure that man finishes his days *drinking* his food through a straw… _

Once again, he found himself wishing that Dick would open up and talk to him and/or Alfred and stop keeping everything bottled up. Hell, he'd even take a tantrum as long as Dick was doing *something* to release his emotions instead of simply trying to exhaust himself enough that he wouldn't feel anything, as the troubled youth was doing even now. Bruce feared that the wall that Dick had thrown up, to keep the storm raging inside him at bay, was going to come crashing down on the boy and that he may not survive the resulting flood…that they might *all* be swept away by the force of what the teen was holding back.

_Heh, _an internal voice chuckled darkly, _this coming from the *master* of keeping things bottled up…_

Bruce scowled. _That's different._

_Oh really? _the voice mocked him, amused at his expense. _How so?_

Bruce's scowl deepened. _Because I'm beyond saving. Dick isn't._

_Right, _the voice answered with another low chuckle. _You just keep on believing that. _

While Bruce stood there, scowling and staring off into space, Dick, finally picking up on Bruce's presence, stopped his routine to watch the older man curiously. It looked like he was having a debate with himself or something. "How was patrol?" he asked quietly, and barely managed to conceal the instinctive flinch when Bruce's focus instantly snapped to him.

"Quiet," the older man answered, turning towards the uniform vault. "It's nearly three in the morning," he called over his shoulder. "What are you doing up?" He vanished into the vault, but left the door to the vault open so he could hear Dick's reply.

_Nearly three?_ That revelation startled Dick. He'd apparently been down here a good hour, but it felt to him like it had been only ten or fifteen minutes. _That was probably the drug's influence…_ Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, Dick focused instead on what sounded like a subtle challenge in his mentor's voice. It was the only thing that stopped him from shrugging the question off as nothing, and it forced him to consider the thought that Bruce already knew exactly why he was up and in the cave at such a late hour… which meant that Bruce was looking to see if he would lie to him.

Even though it wouldn't have been the first time he'd kept the truth to himself this last week, a touch of panic gripped his heart just the same. If Bruce was testing him with *this,* then was it also possible that he knew of all the *other* lies?

Turning his face to the side, Dick closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. _No, if Bruce knew anything,_ he reminded himself, _then he'd have come out and said so. At this point, he was just suspicious… Too suspicious. __Oh boy…_

_Oh, stop it! _an annoyed voice snapped at him. _They're just stupid dreams! Nothing you need to keep from him! Tell him!_

"Dick?"

Dick looked up, startled, and found Bruce standing a few feet in front of him, dressed in shorts and an undershirt, looking at him expectantly. _When did Bruce come out of the vault? _he wondered with a quick glance in that direction, finding the vault's door securely closed for the night. Disgrace and a touch of fear flooded him. Slade would not have been happy that he had missed that. It would have earned him a few good blows…at the very *least*…

"*Dick,*" Bruce repeated with a touch of impatience, stressing Dick's name in an effort not to raise his voice.

Dick started again, suddenly realizing that he must've been silent too long, his jittery instincts telling him he'd better answer quickly before that impatience he'd heard became something else. "I…I…c-couldn't sleep," he finally managed to stammer out, struggling to repress a shiver. "B-Bad dreams."

Bruce's critical gaze softened at the admission, confirming Dick's theory that Bruce had, indeed, been testing him. "Would you like to talk about it?" his mentor asked, closing the short distance between them and sitting on the lower balance beam, which brought them just about eye level. It was a move designed to make himself less intimidating, hopefully putting Dick more at ease and thus more likely to open up.

Dick lowered his gaze and shook his head. "Not really, no," he answered softly. He wanted to forget those awful dreams, not remember them. Wanted to forget the look in his father's eyes and the sobs of his mother…to forget those horrible words his father had said to him…

There was a moment of silence and then a whisper of sound reached Dick's ears just a second before a gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder, causing the youth to flinch. Only with effort did Bruce conceal his reaction to the lingering fear in his son from appearing in his voice. "Dick, look at me."

Dick obediently raised his eyes to meet Bruce's searching ones. He kept his eyes as neutral as possible, not wanting to reveal his pain and fear less he set off Bruce's hair trigger temper… _Wait a minute,_ one of the voices whispered and Dick's focus wavered as he frowned internally. _You're confused again. Bruce has a temper, yes, but he would never harm you for showing your emotions. It was Slade who liked to kick you around, remember? Now pay attention, you fool, Bruce is talking to you._

"…Dick," Bruce was saying gently, giving his shoulder a light squeeze, "you can't go on like this, son. I know you've been having nightmares every night this past week. I know you're scared, and I want you to know that that's okay. What have I always taught you about fear, Dick?" He had always hated the look that was in Dick's eyes right then and had grown to hate it more over the past week…that closed, guarded look as though the boy was afraid to let anyone see what he was feeling. Bruce had come to the conclusion that he would do anything to remove that look, and indeed would change that soon enough…tonight, if he could.

Dick wondered about the surprise that filled him at that statement. Of course Bruce knew he'd been having dreams. That really shouldn't have surprised him, especially considering the test he'd just been given…and the test he now faced as to whether he remembered anything of what Batman had taught him. To be honest, he wasn't sure himself of the answer to that. Slade had been rather…brutally thorough in passing on his own teachings, and the drugs had only enhanced what was already so powerful. Wading through everything Slade had instilled in him to find something of Batman's was a lot harder than he had ever expected. Dick sighed inwardly before slowly, and carefully, answering the question, "That a little fear is a good thing to have. It keeps you sharp and helps you survive."

Bruce nodded, making sure Dick saw his pride in the relatively prompt answer, being well aware that the boy desperately needed reassurance and glad that at least *some* of his teachings were still alive in there…somewhere. "The key word here is a *little* fear, Dick. You can't let that little fear escalate and control you. *You* need to control *it,* and sometimes, the way to do that is by talking about it. Your current method certainly isn't the way to go. You're just going to make yourself sick." _Or insane…_

For some reason, perhaps due to the influence of the drug still in his system, or perhaps because of something else entirely, amusement flooded Dick and a smirk crossed his lips.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Something funny?"

Dick snorted in an attempt to smother a laugh. "It's not often that you say so much at once." Weird. Why was he suddenly feeling like such a smartass? His smirk, already dying, disappeared completely at Bruce's disapproving look. He lowered his gaze and sighed, wondering what *else* he was going to do wrong tonight. "Sorry sir."

Another long moment of silence passed while Bruce waited to see if Dick would elaborate on his thoughts. When he didn't, Bruce sighed inwardly and ordered, "Join me on the mats, Dick," before moving toward said practice mats.

Dick blinked in surprise, having thought Bruce would have either persisted more in getting the details out of him or would have told him to go to bed. Instead, it looked like his mentor simply wanted a sparring match. _All that talking just to end up *sparring?* I'm gonna end up getting a beating, I know it. _Shrugging in mute resignation, he joined Bruce on the mats and, when each had take up a ready position, the match began.

Only when the match was flowing smoothly, and Dick was quite into it, did the Bat spring the trap. "So, are the dreams about *him?*" he asked as he went for a blow to Dick's shoulder.

Dick swiftly evaded the blow, rolling his body under it. "No," he answered shortly, aiming a kick at Bruce's midsection.

Bruce blocked it easily and instantly followed up with another kick of his own as he asked off-handedly, "Then what is it that disturbs you at night? That brings you down here to exhaust yourself?" This was a tactic that both Bruce and Batman had used when Dick was younger, during the rare times when the boy had been reluctant to talk about whatever had been bothering him. Distract the boy with a physical activity, ask him questions without appearing to be paying attention, and he tended to reveal what was on his mind. Usually.

Dick flipped back and off the mats, giving Bruce a pleading look that made it clear that not only was he aware of what the older man was doing, or attempting to do, but that it wasn't going to work this time. "Bruce, please… just don't, okay? Please?" Dick carefully swallowed down his disgusted anger when he realized Bruce was using *that* tactic on him. No…not Bruce, _Batman. _It was alarmingly clear to him that the eyes that were so carefully tracking his every move belonged to the Bat. _Damn him,_ _I don't want to talk! Why can't he just leave me be? Why does he have to pursue me like I'm some two-bit hood who needs to be interrogated? _

The closed, guarded look that Bruce had so hated was gone now, replaced by something much worse. While Dick's plea had been spoken quietly, his eyes were practically screaming it and, as he looked into them, he saw the damage that had unintentionally been inflicted. Recognizing the grave mistake, he quickly pushed the Bat away to stop the pursuit he knew was coming. "All right, Dick," he murmured softly with a nod, stepping back to give the boy more space. "You'll talk when you're ready. Think you can sleep now?"

Dick nodded without looking back at his mentor, already heading for the shower area as quickly as possible. Bruce followed silently and took his own shower to wash off the sweat from their spar as well as from his patrol, regretful but not surprised to find that Dick was already gone when he got out.

Since there was nothing he needed to log into the computer, he headed upstairs, pausing outside of Dick's room and listening for movement. Hearing none, he opened the door a crack and peered inside, spotting his ward lying still in his bed. He could hear deep, even breathing, signaling that he was, indeed, asleep again. Closing the door softly as he let out a relieved sigh, Bruce turned and went down the hall, entering his own room. At least *one* of them would be getting some sleep tonight. He was fairly certain it wouldn't be him.

_You shouldn't have given in so easily, _the Bat grumbled as he went to the window, staring absently into the darkness beyond. _Should have pushed the boy more._

Bruce sighed. _He's only been home just over a week. Give him time._

_Time for what? Time to allow him to sink further away from us? Time to allow his depression to push him over the edge? We can't *afford* more time!_

Bruce ran a hand through his hair in weary agitation. _We can afford a bit more time, _he countered. _Not a lot, but we can certainly give him *some* time. _

The Bat's only reply was a low growl before he went silent. Bruce let out a tired sight and, unable to contemplate his own thoughts anymore, lay down in his bed and slowly drifted off to sleep.

END SCENE

Dick listened to his door open and kept his eyes closed and his breathing slow and even, hoping Bruce would just go to bed and leave him be. He wanted to avoid talking anymore tonight. It would be even better if he could also avoid *thinking.* He breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the door closed without incident and he opened his eyes, staring into the darkness of his room. He knew that the Bat was only trying to help him and it confused him as to why it had hurt so bad when the Bat had pushed him to talk, let alone why he couldn't seem to open up to the man. Or to Alfred either, for that matter. He had always been able to talk to them when he was younger, so why couldn't he do it now?

_You know why, _one of those hated voices whispered, eliciting a soft whimper of protest past his lips as he clenched his eyes shut and reached for a pillow to shove over his ears . Not again. _You're afraid. Afraid that if you open up even a little bit, that you won't be able to stop. That you'll reveal what's in your dresser._

_Not true, _yet another voice spoke up. _You can tell him about the dreams without revealing anything about the pills. And maybe Bruce is right. Maybe talking about the dreams *will* help. Maybe it will even make them go away. Go on, talk to him…right now. You want to get better don't you? Take this one little step at least…_

As if spurred on by an invisible force, Dick shoved his pillow and covers aside as he jumped out of his bed and hurried out of his room, moving silently down the hall to Bruce's room. He paused outside the door, taking a few seconds to gather his courage together before quietly opening the door and slipping inside.

He moved confidently towards Bruce's bed, knowing just what he wanted to say…but then stopped, that strange hesitation washing over him again. With it came the thought that maybe he *shouldn't* do this. Dick groaned inwardly and braced himself, feeling yet *another* internal debate coming on… _Any second now…_ Instead, he jumped a little at movement on the bed and, instinctively taking a step back to give himself room to breathe, watched as Bruce propped himself up on one elbow to look at him.

"Dick?" the older man questioned gently, all traces of sleep melting from him instantly as his gaze fixed on his troubled ward. "You okay?"

Dick opened his mouth to reply, his throat working silently for a long moment, then closed his mouth when nothing came out. He hugged himself around his torso and looked away, unable to meet Bruce's gaze as he wondered where that invisible force had gone that had lured him all the way here from his own bed. _What am I *doing?* _His thoughts raced around his mind, doing an impressive impression of the Flash, refusing to stay still long enough to make coherent sense.

Bruce watched Dick, not saying a word, instead simply waiting. He sensed that if he said anything, it might spook the boy and run him off…or make him shatter completely. So he waited, watching a complicated series of emotions play across Dick's face. Nearly ten minutes of careful surveillance went by before it paid off.

"It's the exact same dream every night," Dick finally murmured, still without looking at Bruce, his gaze instead focused on the bed covers, as if not looking make it easier. And maybe it did. "Nothing really changes. I'm in a dark place, surrounded by people. You, Alfred, the Titans…even members of the JLA. They're all just…staring at me and whispering…pointing. No one actually speaks to me and I can't really hear the whispers, but the looks are loud and clear. They're disgusted with me. Disappointed in what I've done…a-and what I was unable to do." Dick closed his eyes and swallowed hard, his words once again dying in his throat.

Bruce refrained from comment. He could tell that Dick had not yet gotten to what had truly disturbed him about the dream. He sat up, moving slowly so as not to startle Dick, and waited for the boy to continue.

For his part, Dick didn't want to keep talking…and most definitely didn't want to remember more of that which still haunted him. But the *very* appealing prospect of the dreams going away forced him to stay instead of fleeing like he so *desperately* wished he could. In fact, he probably *would* have fled if his feet didn't feel stuck to the carpet. For once, at least, there was only one voice present in his mind, whispering encouragement to him…giving him the strength needed to find his voice again. He swallowed hard. "I…I think I could have dealt with it better if that…if that was all the dream was. But…but *they're* in it too."

"They?" Bruce questioned quietly, deciding it was safe to speak now, if only in simple, single words. Besides, he already had his own suspicions about who his ward was referring to. There was a rather short list of people who's reactions could affect Dick this badly...

Dick hugged himself tighter and squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that had already started to gather. "My…m-my parents," he whispered hoarsely, doing everything he could to ignore the droplet he could feel trickling down his cheek. His breathing sped up a little and he struggled to control it as his father's words once more echoed in his mind. _No son of *mine*…_

A tremor entered Dick's voice as he struggled to get the words out. "My…my mother is crying and refusing to look at me. My f-father says that I've destroyed my mother and…and b-brought shame to his name." He paused long enough to take a gulping breath, a hiccup slipping out in the process. "That I…That I m-made the wr-wrong choice and p-proved just how w-weak and unworthy I…I am. And-And I…I…" Dick came to a screeching, cashing halt as his voice finally failed him completely. _Just like everything else. _He bowed his head, then, surrendering at last to the storm inside, unsure how he was managing to remaining standing on his violently shaking legs. Despite his eyes being tightly shut, the tears were still finding a way to leak out.

Bruce's heart was breaking as he watched the boy, reminded of his own parents and his fears that they, too, were disappointed in him. His attention snapped back to Dick as the boy visibly gathered himself enough to continue.

When he finally started speaking again, Dick couldn't bring himself to care that his voice was shaking so badly that it sounded like he had developed a speech impediment. He just had to get the words *out.* That's all that mattered. "A-After he… tells me…" _You are certainly no son of *mine.* _The words echoed cruelly through his mind again and his breath hitched. He tried to repeat them, tried to force his mouth around the syllables, but each time, the words caught and died in throat. He just couldn't repeat them and, for some reason, his inability to do so just twisted and hurt his heart even more… Perhaps because being unable to repeat them allowed the words to fester and spread more poison of self-hatred rushing through his system.

Defeated, Dick gave up trying to reveal that part of his dream and stuttered, "A-After he t-tells me that…I'm unworthy they…they leave. I-I try to follow but Cyborg and Raven s-stop me an-and all I can do is…is scream for them to come back. Th-That's w-when I wake up."

For a moment, for one deliriously glorious moment, despite being unable to reveal all of what his father had said, Dick felt as though a weight had been lifted from him. A weight as if he'd been carrying the world on his shoulders and hadn't realized how heavy it was until the burden was gone. But it was only a moment before it was immediately replaced by the weight of intense sorrow that mercilessly crushed his soul even further. Sorrow of a strength that he hadn't felt since he was nine. Oh God, how he missed them…

Bruce slid out of bed and moved silently to Dick's side. He knelt so he would be eye level with him, then put a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. He squeezed lightly and Dick trembled violently under his hand even as the youth opened his eyes, releasing the tears in a flood down his cheeks. The way Dick responded to touch was not lost on Bruce. The kid seemed to desperately crave *any* kind of soothing, gentle reassurance that he was safe despite his contradicting wariness and aversion to most touches and almost all physical proximity if the boy wasn't fighting. It made his heart ache to think of what Dick must have been through to make him this way. Right then, Bruce could see that Dick didn't know whether or not to accept the touch or shrug out of it and get some distance between them. It filled his heart with pain and anger to have his child so utterly and easily confused by simple human emotions and gestures.

Dick, indeed, didn't know *what* to do with himself. Whenever Slade had touched him, it was either a touch that harmed him or a touch that made him feel…dirty. _It's just Bruce, _that one voice whispered soothingly. _Bruce would never harm you or make you feel…unclean. It's okay. _True, but even so, it was difficult to *not* want to move away despite how much his heart cried out for the contact. A battle of instincts began within him, one side desperate for his father's touch, the other wanting to get as far away from *any* contact as possible as fast as possible. He felt himself trembling under the strain as he tried to decide which side to favor, if at all. It was a short lived battle, however, for when Dick fully met Bruce's eyes, which contained nothing but love and understanding, the barriers holding him back dissolved and, as the sob escaped him, he threw himself into Bruce's arms, holding on tight, as if his very life depended on it. And maybe it did.

They stayed that way for only a few minutes, Dick shaking so badly that Bruce was almost afraid the boy was having a seizure, before Bruce picked him up and laid him down on the bed where he just held Dick, letting him cry on his shoulder. He didn't say anything, couldn't say anything, not with his understanding that these were not the tears of a boy who was afraid he had disappointed his parents. He was intimately familiar with *those* tears, knowing them well enough through his own bitter experiences to know that it wasn't what was happening here. *These* were the tears of a boy who missed his parents so much, so deeply, that it felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out.

There were no words of comfort Bruce could offer for that. Nothing that could ease this kind of suffering when he hadn't even been able to find that for himself yet. The only thing he could offer tonight was his presence and his complete understanding of what his son was going through, along with the hope that it would be enough... for both of them, for tonight. Tomorrow, they would talk. Tomorrow, he would lay Dick's fears to rest and help the boy move on. _Tomorrow…_

When Dick had finally cried himself into an exhausted sleep, Bruce carefully moved him to a more comfortable position, then settled down himself. He was determined to spend the rest of the night watching the boy sleep and curled his body around his son, an unconscious expression of his wish to protect this boy, this son, from the demons that haunted him still.

Dawn was beginning to lighten the sky before Bruce slipped into his own restless sleep.

END SCENE

Alfred silently slipped into the darkened room and moved gracefully toward the large window. He pulled the drapes aside to allow the morning sun to brighten the room, then turned around and paused, taking in the scene that greeted him. There on the bed lay the two people he cared for most in the world, sleeping peacefully. Bruce had a protective arm wrapped securely, if loosely, around Dick, who was curled up with one hand gripping the arm that was holding him. It was, to quote an old saying, 'a Kodak moment.'

A smile crossed Alfred's lips and his hear warmed as he looked at Dick's face. A small amount of the peaceful innocence that had been absent when Dick slept was back. Not a lot, but it was enough to fill the elderly man's heart with joy and a profound sense of relief.

Moving over to the bed, Alfred reached out to touch Bruce to wake him, freezing when a hand darted out and snatched his wrist in an iron grip, halting his progress. He looked down just in time to see the recognition slowly filling Dick's glazed eyes as the boy looked up at him. Alfred held back a frown at seeing, among the recognition, the remnants of fear slowly dissolving away as the teen determined, in his half-asleep state, that he was in no danger. _Slade's handiwork, no doubt…_

Releasing Alfred, Dick put a finger to his lips and shifted carefully to look at Bruce, who hadn't even stirred. Looking back at Alfred, Dick motioned the older man closer and whispered softly, "Let him sleep, Alfred. He needs it."

Alfred smiled gently and nodded. "Would you like breakfast now, young sir?" he whispered back just as softly.

Dick's eyes shifted to the clock. It was just after eight in the morning. He usually didn't sleep that late, especially these days, and he was about to nod when a large yawn overrode it.

Another fond smile crossed Alfred's lips. "Go back to sleep," he whispered, lightly brushing Dick's shoulder with his fingers before silently leaving the room, not noticing the slight, unconscious tremor that passed through Dick's body at the touch.

Dick sighed and cautiously snuggled deeper into the warmth that the covers and Bruce were providing. He couldn't remember the last time when he felt so warm and safe…so protected. Right then, he felt as though nothing could touch him…nothing could hurt him. Not the dreams, not the voices, not even the siren call of what his dresser harbored could reach him. It was the kind of protection that only a parent could generate and Dick eagerly soaked it up while he could still allow himself to.

Bruce shifted and tightened his grip slightly but didn't wake, and Dick sighed again, closing his eyes, finally relaxing as he answered his body's call to return to sleep.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

PART 3

_Flight. _

_He loved to fly. _

_He had been *born* to fly. _

_There was nothing like the sensation of soaring through the air, the wind on his face and in his hair, so high in the air that nothing and no one could touch him. The sense of freedom was euphoric. Absolute pure bliss and he was one of very few who could do it. He was special. As a small child, he had dazzled audiences with his ability to fly through the air, to perform twists and turns and somersaults, in defiance of gravity. Those people down below, staring up at him in pure awe and delight were slaves to gravity, but not him. Never him. *He* was an acrobat. Powerful and above the common people…above the simple gymnast. *He* was a Lord of flight. _

But even an all powerful lord can fall sometimes.

_It's rare, but it happens. But not to him. *Never* to him._

Oh, really?

_He soared through the air effortlessly, a being of pure beauty, the people below gasping and cheering, crying for more, demanding that he go higher, that he do more dangerous stunts. Grinning, he obliged them, going higher than he ever had before, barely able to see them now. With a thrilling yell, he dived back down towards Earth, preparing for his most spectacular move ever… But, something was wrong. His grin faded as his speed increased beyond his control. He was no longer flying now, but falling. Down, down, down faster and faster until…_

_He came, not to the sudden and horrific stop he had thought was coming, but to a bouncing one. Up and down, up and down, until, finally, he came to a halt, slightly disoriented. Looking around, he found himself in the net and was flabbergasted by it. He *never* landed in the net. He had never needed one before. He had never missed before. *Never*. He tried to get up so he could investigate what had gone wrong, but found himself unable to. The net clung to him like a web, keeping him trapped like the prey he was. He struggled fiercely, crying out for help from the people below, but they had all vanished, unimpressed by his performance. He had *fallen*. What good was he if he couldn't defy gravity? He wasn't special, not anymore. He was just another slave to gravity. Like them. _

_Like a 'nobody'. _

_His searching gaze suddenly landed on something that filled him with fear. A pair of red glowing eyes watched him from the darkness. Slowly, as if stalking him, they drew nearer, and a soft, predatory growl reached his ears, increasing the fear that had latched onto him like a leach. The eyes…that *thing* was now on top of him, it's breath hot and rank on his face. He cried out and struggled against it, managing to throw it off him once, but he was still unable to escape while tangled up in the net. With a whimper of fear, he turned on his side and curled up as best he could, seeing, even with his eyes closed, the shadow fall over him. He felt something rough and somehow sticky at the same time grip him painfully tight, immobilizing him. He let out another cry, his whole body stiffening, waiting for the end…_

Movement…someone holding him…holding him so *close*. _Oh God! What….Master?! _His eyes flew open, instantly alert. All his senses had jumped from resting to full-on-red-alert so suddenly that it had actually added to his disorientation. His heart pounded so hard, he was sure it was going to rip itself right out of his chest, like in that movie _Alien. _For a quick second, he remembered thinking how horribly cool that scene had been before realizing that his pulse was pounding so hard, he could barely hear anything. It was like a hurricane wind was blowing right through his head, which added more to his confused state. His eyes darted around his surroundings and, not immediately recognizing anything, his disorientation graduated to deep, mind-numbing panic.

His breathing grew faster and harder as all of his instincts kicked into survival mode, especially when his mind remembered that he was trapped in the arms of the psycho who had so skillfully and masterfully entrapped him. "No!" he shouted and started to struggle against the hold on him. Against the newest threat to his body and mind. _NO!_ "Get off! Let me *go*!" His mind flashed quickly to the dream-turned-horrible nightmare he'd just had, to the monster that had tried to devour him. He could still smell its stench, still feel its rough, sticky grip. But he wasn't free, was he? He'd simply left the company of one monster and fallen into the hands of another. It seemed that both the dream world and reality had conspired against him. He was no longer safe in either place. He would never be safe again. Not until death finally claimed him.

When the arms---he wasn't sure who had him right now---only tightened their grip on him, he struggled harder, the panic and terror at the thought of what was happening drove his strength up to almost inhuman levels, his panic pushing any bit of reason that might have remained right out the door. "Please, master, *no*!" he cried out, tears beginning to stream down his sickly, pure-white cheeks. He would *not* allow this to happen! That bastard could do anything else, but not this! He would *not* submit, he didn't care *what* kind of punishment Slade dished out! He lashed out any way he could considering the confining space he was in. He kicked, scratched, even bit when he found the opportunity. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, mixing with his own blood from where he'd bitten something during his struggles in the grip of blind panic. But still, his attacker would not release him.

His struggles and fear soared to new heights when he was forced onto his back, weight placed on his legs to keep them immobilized and his arms pinned across his chest in straight-jacket style. _Oh God no! *Please* no!_ his mind screamed as he realized that, despite his struggles, he could not stop what was about to happen. Slade was just too strong for him. It was something the despicable, evil man had enjoyed driving home to him every chance he got. And now…now he was going to teach him that lesson in the most ultimate and final way possible. He stopped struggling for a just a moment as he considered that thought, his body trembling so violently that it must have looked like he was having a small seizure.

He couldn't win. He had to submit. Slade would never stop until he fully possessed Robin, heart, mind, body and spirit… He looked up with terrified eyes into the malicious eye of Slade and a choking sob escaped him, hurting his chest. It was that pain, mixed with seeing that terrible, *evil* eye, that snapped something inside of him. Something primitive that had always refused to give in had broken free and snarled in defiance of that eye that wanted to do such evil to him. It possessed him…filled him with new strength and determination and, with a fierce primal snarl, he renewed his efforts to free himself with an even greater strength than before.

*SLAP*!

"*DICK*!"

He froze at the use of his name… *His* name.

The pain of the strike to his cheek was rapidly fading into the background. He'd heard something in that shout… Something he shouldn't have… Fear and concern, among other things. Had he been hearing things in his desperation to free himself from what Slade had intended to do? He was so certain he'd heard fear and desperation mixed with worry in that one shout of his name, that it brought back some of his sanity in an effort to solve the developing mystery. He was pretty sure Slade was incapable of the emotion he'd heard in the voice. All that monster had ever shown Dick was anger and seduction. He'd never shown true concern or compassion for Dick, only seeing him as a hunk of meat meant to be molded into some kind of sick carbon copy of the man himself-if he could be called a man.

But that wasn't the only thing that had given Dick pause. Slade's voice had sounded different, aside from the unusual emotions. He'd sounded like... Bruce?

"Dick, it's okay! It's just me, you're safe!"

Dick's eyes, which had closed at some point, now leapt open to track and focus on the source of the voice that had once again sounded like Bruce. His chest heaved as his thoughts tried to drag him down into a deep, dark void of never-ending fear while his reason tried to ground him and make him see what was really going on. He blinked rapidly and, ever so slowly, Slade's glowering face melted away to be replaced by a haggard Bruce leaning over him. A quick glance down showed it was his mentor…his father holding him down, and another frantic look around revealed that Slade was nowhere to be found. At least, not in his current line of vision…

"B…Bruce?" The question slipped out past his lips as a whimper. At the same time as his body relaxed in the sheer relief of finding himself with Bruce and not…*him*, shame rushed through, mixing with the relief and replacing the fear and horror of just a moment ago.

Again.

*Again* he'd failed and showed his fear…had given into blind panic and had made a fool of himself in front of the one man he respected above all else. He closed his eyes and turned his head away, swallowing hard, unable to look at his guardian, unable to face the disappointment and disgust he knew the other man had to be feeling toward him.

Bruce released him almost immediately upon hearing his name and the stricken, shaky teen instantly scrambled up to the headboard where he hugged his knees to his chest, instinctively curling into himself in an effort to protect his body even as his eyes darted around the room in one last attempt to ensure that Slade was not there.

_I'm in Bruce's room, _Dick thought, finally recognizing where he was and remembering how he came to be there, his body relaxing just a little bit more at the realization only to then grow tense once more with the awareness that Bruce was yet very close by. Still on the bed with him in fact… His eyes flew back to Bruce, who was sitting back and watching him quietly, a strange intensity in his gaze normally reserved for the Bat.

Dick's gaze jerked away from that, unable to cope with and comprehend what that intensity was telling him. Instead, his eyes widened a little when he saw blood trickling down from one corner of his mentor's mouth and a dark mark forming under his left eye. Ice gripped Dick's heart as he realized *he* had caused that damage. _'Oh no! Oh noonononono…' _his mind ranted as the fear shot up again and he somehow managed to curl up tighter, certain he would be punished for this latest transgression. Maybe… maybe he would understand…maybe Dick would be let off just this once…

"Oh, God…Bruce! I…I…"

Bruce, suddenly aware of the blood trickling down his cheek, slowly and gently wiped it away and gave Dick a calm, reassuring look as his hands moved down to the bedcovers in as much an effort to keep himself (and perhaps even the Bat) under control, as it was to keep them where his wide-eyed ward could see them. "It's all right, Dick," he said softly, soothingly, as if trying to tame a wild animal. Because he was beginning to understand that maybe he was. "You know looks can be deceiving. You didn't hurt me." Seeing the boy was still deeply rattled, still only half-listening, Bruce continued consolingly, "Take a deep breath, Dick. Calm down…breathe… Remember who I am, that I'm here for you, that I'm not going to hurt you. You're home and you're safe."

Dick hesitated for a few seconds, and then did as instructed, keeping his eyes glued to Bruce and breathing deeply, struggling to bring himself under control even as his senses remained on alert for any hidden danger that may have been lurking, unseen in the room. A rather difficult task considering the intense fright he'd just had, not to mention the adrenalin still racing through his body and clouding his thinking.

As he relaxed, his mind slowly cleared and he soon found himself combing his memory, desperately needing to confirm his reassurance to Batman that Slade had never done…*that* to him. He didn't think he'd be able to handle it if he stumbled upon some repressed memory that contradicted what he *did* remember. With what had just happened, he was unable to shake off the lingering fear that he just *might* be repressing something. That maybe…just maybe, Slade *had* crossed that terrible, hideous line and had really and truly made Robin *his*…

Movement from Bruce startled him and his gaze, which had dropped ever so slightly as he thought, immediately snapped back to the older man as an almost threatening little growl escaped his lips. The sound made Bruce, who had patiently been shifting positions on the bed, freeze in surprise, his earlier thoughts of taming a wild animal coming back in force. Keeping perfectly still and calm, he kept eye contact and murmured softly, reassuringly, "It's okay, Dick. You're still safe. Remember what I said about breathing. Calm your mind, son…"

Dick swallowed hard and resumed his deep breathing, eyes still locked on Bruce, tracking any bit of movement he made. His mind and body were just barely starting to calm when there was a knock on a door he couldn't see that caused him to jump in fright, a harsh gasp escaping his lips. His eyes darted back to Bruce as the man moved again, giving him a view of the dreaded door and he instinctively pressed himself back into the headboard as if trying to dig into it and disappear. With his line of vision now clear, he stared at said door, certain that one monster or another was going to walk through it and drag him back into its terrible embrace.

'_Oh God!' _his mind screamed as the door slowly started to open. _'What if this is a dream and I'm not really here? What if I'm still there with him and he's coming back for another round? Oh God please! *Please* help me!' _He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them and watched intently and fearfully as the door opened completely and a concerned looking Alfred appeared, poking his head and half his upper body into the room.

"Master Bruce?" the elder man inquired softly, wise eyes taking in the scene before him, not missing the desperate way Dick was trying to disappear into the headboard and tracking the butler's movements with eyes the elderly man didn't recognize. Nor did he miss how carefully Bruce had his hands in open view. Whatever he thought of the situation he'd walked in on, not a hint of it appeared in his voice as he continued mildly, "Is everything all right? I heard shouting."

Bruce nodded, face turned away from Alfred, his reassuring gaze never leaving Dick. "Everything's fine, Alfred," he said, his voice carefully modulated to match the sereneness of his eyes, for Dick's sake if not his own. "Just a little panic attack, that's all. We'll be down to breakfast shortly."

Alfred wordlessly looked from Bruce to Dick, perhaps determining everything was under control in his own way, or as much as it could be at that moment, and quietly left the room.

Bruce gave Dick another moment of tranquil silence before asking softly, "Are you all right?"

_No, _Dick thought despairingly even as he nodded a small 'yes.' _I'll never be okay again. Not now, anymore…_

Concern flashed through Bruce's eyes, although he was careful not to make a comment about it. He could quite easily see that Dick *wasn't* all right, but decided not to push just yet. There would be time to talk about this incident later, *after* they discussed the events of last night. He really didn't want to risk setting the boy off again. Not after the progress he had made the previous night and this morning. "All right," he murmured finally. "Did you want to shower before breakfast?"

Dick nodded quickly, feeling horribly unclean right then as he thought of Slade's hands on his body and what they had done to him. His breath hitched as he thought, _'*Might* have done. *Might*. I can't…he couldn't have… Oh God, I'm going to be sick!' _Without waiting for Bruce to say anything more, he jumped out of the bed and hurried from the room. Once back in his own bedroom, he immediately raced into his bathroom, where he emptied what little was in his stomach. Resting his forehead against he bowl, he closed his eyes and struggled to erase the images still rushing through his head. He shuddered, feeling the ghostly caress of Slade's hands on his body, his hot breath in his ear and on his neck… He curled his hands into tight fists, trying to chase the images and feelings away with the pain of his nails digging into his skin.

His mind abruptly jumped to his dresser where it knew relief lay and, forcing himself to get up, he stumbled out of the bathroom and to his dresser where he retrieved a whole pill instead of half of one, nearly dropping it as he was shaking so badly. He swallowed it down quickly and closed his eyes, feeling the little pill work its magic. Within moments, he felt wonderfully detached from the chaos raging in his heart. With calmness now dominating his body and mind, Dick disappeared into the bathroom for a nice, hot shower.

******

Alfred looked up as Bruce made his appearance in the kitchen, and raised an elegant brow at the darkening bruise under the younger man's left eye. Turning his attention back to what he was doing, he asked, "I assume, Master Bruce, that the young master is now attempting to make himself presentable. Care to tell me what really happened?"

Bruce shrugged, already having mastered his emotions, and replied, "Panic attack. Like I said upstairs."

Alfred nodded and turned, holding up a pot so that Bruce could see his own reflection. "Indeed, Master Bruce. And I suppose you expect me to believe that *that* came from a little walk into a door?" He paused, then added, "Really now, I simply *must* have those doors replaced with ones that don't possess fists."

Bruce sighed in defeat and nodded, running a hand through his freshly washed hair. "That kid's head is a lot worse off than I anticipated," he murmured, then proceeded to tell his oldest and most trusted friend about the events of the previous night and what had happened earlier. "I'm not afraid to admit it, Alfred. I'm terrified for him. His mental state is just so…fragile." He ran his hand through his hair again in a nervous gesture. "There's so much trauma hidden inside him..."

He looked up and focused piercing eyes on his own guide and confidant, and found himself thinking once again of this morning's events. The kid's panicked reactions to such an innocent touch hadn't been far from his mind since it had happened. He couldn't help but start to mentally list all the reasons that could cause it, for all that he was trying not to. It was a long, sickening list. "How can I help Dick when I can't predict how he'll react to the littlest thing, when there's so much he's not telling us?"

"These things take time, master Bruce," Alfred replied, his voice filled with the wisdom gained through long years of experience in caring for this particular family. "He hasn't been home long, after all, and last night was a good step forward. Perhaps you might make even more progress today during your outing."

Bruce titled his head a little, looking at Alfred in confusion. "Outing?"

"Yes sir," Alfred replied, setting a glass of orange juice down in front of Bruce. "I've taken the liberty of canceling all your appointments for today and requested that the horses be brought up from the stables."

Bruce blinked as the conversation took an unexpected turn, even though a part of him knew that he shouldn't have been so surprised. Alfred was always springing things on him. The man had a way of springing things on him that even his most dangerous foes couldn't manage. Alfred could give them lessons. "Why? What will I be doing instead?" he asked, doing his best to keep his resignation out of his voice for all that he was sure Alfred had heard it anyway. He'd long since learnt not to resist Alfred when the older man got devious like this.

"Because, young sir," Alfred answered patiently, "there is no better way for reaching the heart and soul than being in the arms of nature." He set a plate of bacon and eggs down before Bruce with his usual flourish. "Now, I do suggest you eat up, Master Bruce. The horses will be here within the hour."

"What horses?" Dick asked, entering the room before Bruce could even think to say anything. The youngest of the trio moved with an almost fluid grace as he headed for the table, completely composed and with no trace of his earlier panic anywhere. Though there was something in his eyes…a watchfulness that held an eerie quality in it. Like he was expecting the king of all terrors to leap out at any second, and was more than ready to meet it head on.

"Ah, good morning, Master Dick," Alfred answered cheerfully. "Would you fancy orange or apple juice with your breakfast this morning?"

"Orange, please," Dick replied, sitting down at the table and watching the elderly man bustle around the kitchen.

Bruce cautiously studied Dick carefully as he sipped at his own orange juice, careful to hide his regard by lowering his head over his breakfast plate. While the teen looked *very* collected and at ease, he was also *too* composed after what had just happened. Every bone, every muscle, every instinct that Bruce had ever possessed was telling him that something was off. There was something in Dick's calmness that simply wasn't natural and shouldn't have been there. He had picked up that unnatural feeling many times in the last week, but it had never been as strong as it was now. And that gave him a very bad feeling, which, of course, caught the Bat's attention, who was watching now too, riveted by the boy's behavior.

Dick, sensing he was being watched despite Bruce's attempts to hide it, turned his gaze to Bruce. The wonderful, euphoric calmness rushing through his system would remain with him for a good long while thanks to having taken a whole pill instead of half of one. The voices were silent, but his instincts were strongly advising caution. There was a funny look in Bruce's eyes that he didn't quite like. Memories flashed through Dick's mind of all the looks Bruce had ever given him, followed by the looks of his *other* persona. _Ah…it's *him*._ The Bat was there, he could see it now, which definitely added to his need for caution. After staring at each other for a long moment, Dick repeated his earlier question in an attempt to draw Bruce back to the forefront and escape from the scrutiny of the damn Bat. "So…what horses?"

Alfred set Dick's own plate of bacon and eggs down in front of him and slipped Bruce a meaningful look before returning to his tasks. Bruce read the look loud and clear. As he dug into his breakfast, he said, "The horses we keep down at Jack's Stable, remember? I thought it would be fun to take them out on a little ride. Been a while since we've done that."

Dick raised an eyebrow as he scrambled his eggs around on his plate, mixing the bacon in with them and creating a baconized goo that Alfred glanced at with distaste. "Don't you have to work?" he questioned. "You know, meeting, meeting, scare the crap out of some low-level employees, meeting…"

Bruce raised his own eyebrow, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. "I'm the big boss, remember? I can play hooky if I wish. Especially if it's to spend time with my one and only son." He paused, then added with a mischievous look in his blue eyes, "Why? Do you have a hot date or something? Because if you do, we could certainly put it off for another time…"

Dick blushed and looked down at the goo on his plate, wondering how Bruce always managed to turn the tables on him like this. "Riding *does* sound like fun," he murmured as he stirred the stuff around. "Can't remember the last time I was on a horse."

"Good," Bruce said, suppressing a laugh at the reaction. "We'll leave after breakfast."

"Oh, honestly, Master Dick!" Alfred finally chided with another look at Dick's plate. "If you wanted oatmeal you only had to ask."

Dick looked up at Alfred, a sudden troubled look on his face. "Hey, Alfred? Could you do me a favor? Don't call me 'Master,' all right? I'm not your master. I'm not *anyone's* master."

"But, young sir," Alfred protested, exchanging surprised looks with Bruce. "That's hardly proper…"

"I don't care if it's proper or not," Dick interrupted. "Just…please, don't call me that, all right?"

Alfred was silent for a moment, both men studying Dick, who had all his attention back on his plate. Exchanging another look with Bruce, who nodded slightly, Alfred said, "Very well, Richard. If that is your wish, then I shall respect it."

Dick nodded, murmuring a quiet, "Thank you," before digging in to the mush that had once been bacon and eggs. Bruce and Alfred exchanged looks again, but neither said anything. Alfred turned back to his duties, struggling to ignore the mess that Dick was eating, and Bruce continued with his own breakfast, eying Dick as he did. He understood the boy's aversion to being called 'master,' considering what he'd been through. But surely he knew the difference between the way Alfred used the word and the way Slade did? _'Best not to push it,' _he decided. _'At least for now. We've got other issues to deal with first. One thing at a time.' _Starting with whether or not that bastard had ever touched Dick sexually. Despite his denial when Bruce had first asked him, the earlier scene upstairs had seriously contradicted the claim that nothing like that had ever happened. If, in fact, it had…

A shiver made its way up and down Bruce's spine, not only at the implications, but at the low snarl from the Bat. Both he and the Bat knew, that if it was true and Dick *had* been through that experience, then neither of them would rest until they had hunted Slade down like the animal he was, and killed him, personal morals be damned.

The son of the Bat _would_ get justice.

One way or another.

tbc


End file.
